


Gift of The Magi: A VegeBul Retelling

by RedSmileyFace



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi - O. Henry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSmileyFace/pseuds/RedSmileyFace
Summary: Alternate Universe: as Saiyan exiles currently residing on Namek with very little to celebrate, Vegeta and Bulma pause during a Namek Holiday to consider what the other means to them. Each then takes action to show the other exactly how much they are appreciated. Loosely based on "Gift of the Magi", originally written by O. Henry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely had fun writing this. SUPER fluffy and cheesy; but dude, tis Christmas, I am allowed. :3
> 
> Probably (OK, definitely) out of character, but please allow for a timeline where Bulma and Vegeta are lovers already, after a period of about 5 years. Vegeta still has his people, they're not dead yet, and he has hope of reclaiming them. He also grew up "normally", not under Frieza's thumb, so not quite so volatile.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, as much as I wrote! And if you haven't heard of "Gift of the Magi" enjoy the story as new or 1) read the short story by O. Henry, and more importantly, 2) listen to the song "Gift of the Magi" by "Squirrel Nut Zippers". It's one of my favorite short romance stories.

Vegeta silently landed upon the Namekian blue grass, watching the female he had come to regard fondly as she worked on dirtied hands and knees in her vegetable garden. He folded his arms over his armored chest, smirking as she continued oblivious to his appearance. She was a weak demi-Saiyan, blue of hair and eyes, evidence of her half-Tuffle heritage; but let anyone say she was useless and they would find themselves at the end of Vegeta's sword.

He thought it funny, his regard for her, because Bulma, this weak Saiyan-Tuffle woman, had never really been on Vegeta's radar until recently. He walked closer, making his presence known. She looked up, dirt on her nose and cheek, and smiled at him. He smiled back. "Where is my dinner, woman?" She frowned, but he continued smirking and teasing her, "A prince is a very busy man, with very little time to take care of himself. I expect food and..." Dirt thrown into his face stopped his drivel. Laughing as he wiped the soil away, he regarded her with a somewhat fond smile. He could only imagine what she would have screamed at him had she the chance, and could even hear her voice in his head, as he read her lips mouthing off at him. The first time he had ever seen her, she was screaming like a hell-beast being dragged along by his father's men.

_"Unhand me! Don't you know who I am? I am Bulma Briefs! Professor Briefs is my father, wait till he hears about...!"_

_"He will hear nothing." King Vegeta coldly interrupted. "Tear out her vocal chords," he addressed the guards, "I don't need to hear her to enjoy her."_

_"NO! No! You can't do this...!" Palace guards dragged the kicking and screaming former free scientist away, obscenities fading from hearing the further they were._

That was all Vegeta knew of her for years before things on their home planet went to hell in a hand basket. She brought him back to the present, walking up to him, wiping her hands on her dirty cargo pants, not really successful at cleaning anything, before smacking his chest in annoyance. He grabbed around her waist, bringing her head closer and kissing her breathlessly. When they parted, he stroked her cheek, her jaw, and her throat, where thin silver scars ran where the palace doctor had done his work all those years ago. What was it? Fifteen years since her initial abduction and placement into his father's harem? She had suffered, but thrived in the end; a true Saiyan woman.

He felt her swallow, still uncomfortable with him touching her throat scars even after five years they've been on this planet, since he placed her under his protection. He removed his hand from her throat, but she quickly grabbed at his wrist, smiling softly at him as she walked him into their humble Namekian home. He smelled seafood upon walking indoors, and he turned to her in surprise. She blushed, not looking at him as she took his bare sword from his hip and placed it in its proper place by the door; naked steel proudly displayed on the highest set of pegs set there for the purpose of holding weaponry.

The sword had belonged to his father before him, and had taken down many adversaries. King Vegeta met his end at the hand of the invader, Frieza, and it was his older son who had found him dead, clutching at his sword. Prince Vegeta had only time to grab the sword, and say a final farewell to a father he hardly respected, than he had fled on the advice of General Kakarot to regroup and plan. He had no regrets about leaving the scabbard behind; it fit his father's gaudy tastes more than his own sensible ones.

Shoving the memories away, Vegeta glanced at Bluma again, smirking at her with joy at her current domesticated mood. She hated anything to do with cooking, or cleaning, or "taking care of her man"; but when she was feeling sentimental, every few months or so, she would surprise him with his favorite meal (well, with what they could find on Namek, anyway). She must be feeling the emotional warmth of the upcoming Solstice just as he was. With the new traditions they were finding on this new planet, especially the Namekian "Solstice Holiday", Vegeta had recently been feeling the need to give her something to show his... affection for her.

While he sat at the table, enjoying his alien sushi, he had her seated on his lap, one hand running fingers through her waist length hair while the other hand would feed her too, of his meal. Saiyans didn't normally share their food, unless with close friends or loved ones. It was a fairly new development in their relationship, but then everything about their relationship dragged at a snail's pace. Once Bulma had gotten over her hesitance in being with her former tormentor's son, and that did not happen in a day either, she had since then been happy, receptive and eager for each and every milestone in their relationship. He, however, was the one that held things back; refraining from sharing the same roof, the same bed for sleep, refusing to hold her hand in public, from teasing her, sharing food, baring his weaknesses; all that and more he had held back for as long as he could. And still they had not officially mated...

Bulma was the one that did everything meaningful, while all he truly offered was protection and sex. Ever since Major Raditz had found the blue haired stowaway upon their crashed ship, five years ago as they accidentally landed on Namek, Bulma had been indispensable to their cause, to their livelihood. Being smart enough to escape the palace and find her way to the correct ship into space was enough of a sign to show her tenacity and foresight, everything since was a bonus. Their irreparable ship had been repurposed: ship walls, tech, and wiring turned into generators, machines, controls for temperatures, water maintenance, and even a gravity chamber, all these she regularly upgraded. And she had plans for more!

He wondered what it was that kept her with him rather than, perhaps say, Raditz? The subordinate is fairly good looking, and, Vegeta had gathered, a decent romantic. Perhaps she went with the strongest? After all, Vegeta is her best chance, after Kakarot, and the buffoon was her childhood friend, besides! Vegeta guesses he should count himself lucky that Kakarot was already mated and had a family of his own.

The woman wrapped her arms around his waist, and he looked down to see her eyes closed and a smile playing on her lips. Whatever her reasons initially, she was no doubt happy to still be with him now. He shouldn't question too much, it was foolish when he had more things to worry about, like gaining an army and ships to take back what was his. The Namekians offered their help, so he was halfway there, but the transportation was elusive; Namekian technology was medieval, at best, stone age at worst. Still, as he brushed back some hair from her cheek, he thought the upcoming Solstice was the perfect opportunity to pause from his everyday worries, and take time to profess his appreciation of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Bulma's turn to contemplate the upcoming Solstice.


	2. Chapter 2

Bulma sat within the tiny console of the gravity chamber, sweating through her old blue jumpsuit that once belonged to Vegeta, mentally cussing a storm but still diligently working on fixing the faulty wiring system. If only her father was around, perhaps they could have made new things rather than making do with recycling old ship materials...

Sighing over useless thoughts as she tightened the panel over the sensitive wires, she also shut the mental doors on her more sensitive thoughts. Wiping at her brow, she exited the cramped space, grabbing at the hand outstretched to help her up. She nodded gratefully towards the tall Saiyan who had nothing better to do than annoy her. Fingers lingering over her hand, Raditz handed her a water bottle and subtly sniffed at her hair, standing too close for her comfort.

She stepped back, placing a hand at his chest to keep him at bay. He smirked at her, "Aw, don't be like that. Until Prince Vegeta finally lays mating claims upon you, I can attempt to gain you for myself. Besides," And he stepped closer, ignoring her outstretched hand, but rather grabbing it gently with his two hands, "you can't truly expect me to believe you don't like my attentions. Especially when our prince hardly does you any justice."

It is true, she can admit, that Raditz is a nice man that usually spent his spare time helping her as he could. Mostly heavy lifting, but otherwise just keeping her company and making sure his comrades didn't try to accost Bulma themselves. But his protection wasn't enough of an excuse for his words to her, or against his superior.

Rolling her eyes, she patted his cheek, but strode away as fast as she could, closing the doors to the gravity simulator and using the outdoor controls to lock and set the machine to 100 times Vegetean gravity. The outdoor controls and lock were Vegeta's idea, a means for punishment, but Bulma found herself quite content using it herself. She grinned at Raditz, giving him a thumbs up. She saw him shake his head, then return her gesture, showing her job of fixing the machine had been a success. She nodded, showed him ten minutes with her fingers, than set the timer to release at that specified moment. Walking away she heard the rumble of the machine behind her; Raditz was letting off some steam it seemed.

Shaking her head at his angst, she remembered a time when he had free access to her, and too many other women as well, in the King's harem. Raditz was a generous partner, romantic when he wanted to be, rather tame in comparison to others she had unfortunately known, but he was still a pig. And now he wanted Bulma all to himself, because she was all that was available. There were a total of four Saiyan women among the exiles on Namek; the other three (Chi Chi, Fasha, and Gine) were already mated. That left about twenty or so randy Saiyan men bereft, and only her as the unclaimed female. It did not help that the aliens who originally inhabited Namek were a race of only males.

She had no problems with the Namekians; they were a peaceful race who found purpose and love in their own quaint ways (who had no idea what to make of the female body, anyway), and some were honorable warriors too, of which her Saiyan half could appreciate. But of her own people... If Vegeta had not declared her off limits, even to himself, at the very beginning in order that she could do repairs and whatever else she wished, she imagines her life would have been the same as at his father's palace: pleasing as many man who wished for her "services".

She had wondered for the longest time why he given her such a gift, and had come to learn that he and his brother Tarble had never known who their mother was for sure, could not even be positive they shared the same mother, but knew her (or they) to be of the King's Harem. King Vegeta certainly never offered the information. In a culture that valued family for at least stability's sake, if nothing else, not knowing one's parentage was very rare. And almost unheard of in the history of the royal family. Both heirs had, for this reasons, disdained the royal harem.

She remembers neither prince visiting her, or the others. (The younger prince was not here on Namek with them, but Vegeta said the boy had been on his way to the ship bay as well; hopefully he had managed to escape Frieza as well...) At the time she never knew why, and honestly, she hadn't really cared. However, now he is more than just some royal figure in the distance, he is actively kind to her, is constantly impressed by her, and takes care to be an attentive suitor. He had gaped like a fish upon her reveal as a stowaway, but then had laughed at her tenacity, saying he "should not have been so surprised"; as if he remembered her from before as having an attitude, though she only remembered interacting with Goku outside of the harem's rooms.

Each and every plan she had drawn out for him, or gestured wildly at, produced nods, smirks, surprise, and pride from the man; he is happy she is around, and is glad for her expertise as a scientist, more than as a woman. She had not had that since she was a young teen, and it made her heart soar to be appreciated thus. Every time she internally bemoaned that she had never finished her studies that she could not make new unless from the ship's scrapes, that Namek had no usable minerals easily accessible, she only had to remember Vegeta's pride in what she had accomplished, and she was eager again to continue on. If the situation had been different, she would say he could have almost been like a familial figure. But he was of her age and her lover; General Bardock was the one who looked on at her as a daughter, a sister to his sons, an aunt to his grandkids.

Sighing, she looked back at the gravity simulator, watching Radtiz stumble out, sword being shoved into its scabbard, and gulping at his water. She does appreciate the pig's protection and friendliness, otherwise another male would have harassed her and worse. But she worries that someday Raditz will cross a line, and Vegeta will kill him. She knows that if it weren't for the fact that neither Goku, nor Bardock, nor Vegeta can't always look after her, that her prince understands the situation they all find themselves in without female warriors to fill in the ranks, than Raditz would probably be dead already. Vegeta's temper, while more calm than before, still could be violent when provoked.

Gazing forward towards "home", she could not wait to see her Prince again. He gave her life back, her sense of purpose after nearly two decades thinking she'd die an unappreciated whore. She wants to do more for Vegeta, to show him her love; but what? If her machines and her technologies and trading knowledge with the Namekians (which, she might add, caused them to ally themselves with Vegeta, thank you very much!), if all that didn't wake him up to the fact that she was with him for more than protection, then what would? She could only speculate that he thought she did all that crap for the whole group, rather than just him. It wasn't like that at first, not at all.

She kicked at a loose rock, watching it skip a few times before plopping in a lake. She had least a week to figure something out, before what the Namekians called the Solstice came. A holiday they celebrated every few years when the rotations of the planet and three suns aligned in such a way that all three suns disappeared for few hours. Her inner nerd squealed over the calculations, but her inner romantic swooned at the history and traditions the Namekians created out of such an occasion. It would be the perfect time to give Vegeta something. But what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Vegeta goes shopping.


	3. Chapter 3

Fighting sounds echoed through the Sound Valley, Mt. Allegro off in the distance hiding one of the setting suns. Deep shadows covered the valley, Namek reading itself for the winter solstice with cold winds, icy ponds, and dry grass brittle to the touch. But neither the cold nor the lengthening shadows would prevent the two males from sparring with each other.

Steel and polished wood clashed, Namekian and Saiyan searched for weaknesses, finding very little in the other, and three suns skirted the edge of the horizon; never dipping, never rising, teasing anyone who cared that they would only go to sleep on one day out of every five or six Namek years.

Vegeta found the Namek warrior he fought, Piccolo, to be an excellent sparring partner. Piccolo was the strongest Namek, stronger than most of the Saiyans, and offered a different style than any of them. It kept Vegeta on his toes, and broadened his defensive and offensive styles. The green alien was also a good ambassador; he was not the usual peaceful Namekian, having a blood-lust in his veins that many of his brothers did not. Therefore, he was sympathetic towards the Saiyans, but understood enough of his own people that his insights to both was nearly invaluable.

The two men danced in the grass, weapons twirling and striking, blocking and weaving. Piccolo's staff was a hefty thing, no mere soldier would have been able to lift, let alone swing it so dexterously and effectively. Being struck in the head could be fatal, and Vegeta knew it. The prince's hands sometimes shook even hours later from defending against such harsh blows, and bruises were inevitable and plentiful after each and every bout.

However, the staff was also beautifully carved. Vegeta's sword had nicked and destroyed some of Piccolo's weapons, so he knew the Namek was a skilled and quick woodcarver to have made so many in the short time they have known each other. The current one had suns, clouds, and stars worked into the grain, in honor of the upcoming Solstice. Too bad it was almost nicked beyond recognition, before the event could even occur.

Eventually, the two warriors called an end to their friendly spar. Seated side by side in the dark emerald light, purples and lavenders streaking the sky. The two spent some time recovering from exertions. Grunting, the Namekian looked over his staff, frowning at the numerous cuts and splinters, despite how much care he took to wrap in with leather straps and strengthening lacquer. He might to carve another staff. Again.

Sighing, he looked towards the alien, seeing the short prince running fingers along the flat of his blade, frown even deeper than usual. "Don't look so sour, Vegeta. All you'll have to do is sharpen the edge and clean the blade. Me?" He hefted his staff up as evidence, "I'll need a new one now, no thanks to you."

Vegeta lowered his sword, and looked towards Kleine, the smallest of the three suns. "At least the loss of the weapon does not affect you too much, Namekian. We have the steel, but not the artistry. Bulma..." He laughed, and Piccolo was momentarily stunned to hear such humor from the normally stoic man. "All her efforts at melting steel, shaping and sharpening blades end up looking like lumps of coal. None of my men can figure to do much better, either."

He frowned again, "Besides, we have a need for more survival materials than weaponry. No call for anything fancy or pretty, either."

Piccolo looked at his staff, remorseful over its loss, but glad to have another chance to create another masterpiece. "That's a bleak way to look at things. Grand Elder Guru always tries to teach me to find balance in life. The most obvious being between my peaceful heritage and my destructive urges. But also appreciating the beauty and quality of things surrounding us."

"What drivel." The shorter man remarked, sounding more morose than spiteful.

"Yeah." Piccolo replied, not really agreeing, but understanding a little of the ex-prince's sad outlook.

"I am paying for everything, now." Vegeta started to vent, "There is very little to enjoy, or  _balance_ , in my life. My pride, my people's pride, and everything that comes from that: paid for dearly and lost regardless. It has been a nightmare..." They were silent for a moment, watching the small sun drift from east to west, neither rising nor falling.

Vegeta sighed deeply, "Being on Namek, however annoyingly peaceful it is, has been a blessing in disguise. I can see things that I have not before, I can see my honor regained, my pride restored. Frieza will pay for my father, my brother, and most importantly, for enslaving millions of Saiyans. And Tuffles, I suppose. I will have to include them after this..."

He hefted the sword before him, the flat showing his dour reflection, turning the edge towards him as he mentally made his decision regarding the object. "I carried this as a symbol of my people, but really, it is my father's sword. He was a king first, I suppose, more than a warrior or even a family man. He let power go to his head, and while still a strong fighter, he was an indulgent male: women, gaudy objects, no moderation whatsoever on anything. I cannot rid his image as I hold this, and I desperately want to. He was weak, to ignore the warnings of his generals and scientists. I think I am ready to part with it, even though I really cannot be weaponless in the years to come..."

He looked to the Namekian, "You must think me strange, to want to be rid of a weapon for such a reason."

Grunting, Piccolo reached for the hilt, testing its weight and balance, not used to his hands being limited on a weapon such as this yet. "I can understand. The staff might not be a sword, but for each and every one I carved, there always came a time to be rid of it. Even the ones that had not been damaged. A weapon and its wielder should have a synergistic bond; if they don't, it could harm a warrior mentally, and eventually, physically."

"Hm. Then the sword is yours, if you wish."

Sword forgotten, the men looked at each other in the eye, kinship and understanding, if not friendship, passing from one to the other.

"I understand you want to be rid of your past regrets and bitterness, but you must let me give you something for this." Piccolo gestured to the sword he had placed on the ground before them.

Vegeta smiled, a devious smirk that said Piccolo had gone right where the other man wanted. "I was hoping you'd agree to a commission." He then detailed a hair comb for his blue haired woman that he wished carved.

Piccolo sighed heavily, knowing it for a Solstice gift. He would have carved her a throne, happily, let alone a simple hair ornament, since the Saiyans had all given him a new purpose in life, and his people new technologies. Plus, to be made the General of Namekian Forces, when the time came to reclaim Prince Vegeta's throne for him, was no small honor, either.

But pride was both a strength and weakness for the Saiyan Prince; the man would not take such grand gifts, nor pity, nor offerings; not when they were meaningless. Balance between the functional and the grandeur, indeed. The sword was too much for such a simple craft, though Vegeta truly did not have anything else to his name. However, Piccolo felt he understood the feelings of the prince; of keeping to honor, and becoming worthy of Bulma. That did not require the sword of an ill-remembered man.

Finally nodding, Piccolo promised to finish some ornamental combs before the Solstice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Bulma's turn for shopping.
> 
> DVD Extra: "Kleine" is taken from Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik", which roughly translate to "a little serenade", or "a little night music". "Kleine" meaning "little".
> 
> "Allegro" is a musical term that tells the musicians to play a piece fast, or lively. Coincidentally, the first movement of"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik", the most popular, is called "Allegro".
> 
> Final note of interest (maybe?): totally was inspired by the anime/manga "Bleach" for the speech Piccolo gave about weapons and wielders having a "bond"; can't take full credit of that, either.


	4. Chapter 4

Bulma climbed the stairs to the upper level of the two story home of her best friend. Goku, his father, wife, and sons were still in the kitchen laughing over something. Vegeta had declined to dine with them, saying he had matters to discuss with Piccolo. Raditz, her purpose for the evening despite communicating that she only wanted a nap to the others, was in his room. She found him, as expected, seated on his futon sharpening his sword.

He acknowledged her entrance with a nod and smile, but didn't question her appearance or her moving to sit beside him.

There was silence for a few minutes, the  _snick-snick_  of the pumice stone along the blade's edge the only sound, lulling them into calm. But her heart beat fast, and Bulma did not know if she could go through with asking a favor of the man beside her. What if he asked for too much in return?

She reached for the plain brown toughened leather scabbard that lay before Radtiz, aware that he had stopped moving to watch her. She observed its plainness, its sheen, and its well taken care of hardness. Nary a scratch was on it, the leather still supple and far from crackling, the shape rigidity sound and strong. A good scabbard, if a boring one. The king's scabbard had been encrusted with gold scrollwork and rubies; gaudy in her opinion, but then anything that man approved of she automatically didn't. This plain one was an honorable scabbard; it did what it needed to without embellishing false superiority. And it was well taken care of. If Raditz said 'no', she would have to beg Goku or Bardock for one of their old, musty, and ill-taken care of scabbards. Those two preferred hand-to-hand rather than sword fighting, and it showed sometimes. She was not willing to ask any of the other Saiyans. Raditz  _might_ ask too much of her, all the rest definitely would.

She shuddered in thought, breaking out of it only as a warm hand enclosed on her shoulder. Looking at Raditz, who asked if she was OK, she nodded, smiling at him. Taking a deep breath, losing her smile in her wariness, she looked down at the scabbard, gestured to it, than to herself, asking him through hand signs, for her to have it.

He chuckled, "What do you need that for? You don't have a sword. Not that I'm aware of!"

She glared at him, not appreciating being laughed at. She signed with a hand above her head, rotating it to signify a crown, meaning she was talking about Vegeta. Then she again made the signs asking for the scabbard.

Raditz frowned in realization. "For Vegeta, eh? Have him come ask himself if he really wants it!" He turned away, now bringing an oilcloth to clean his blade.

Sighing in exasperation, she nevertheless soldiered on. She turned his head towards her, then made the signs to show that she was asking for the scabbard, so she could give it as a gift. Radtiz snorted, lowering the sword to the floor before turning to her. "And why would I want to help you with that?" He raised a hand to brush at her cheek, leaning closer and coming as close to pleading as he could. "Forget that prick. You know I want you, and I as hell can be good for you. Better than he!"

Bulma only looked at him with pity, especially knowing he spoke true. If not Vegeta, she might have settled for Radtiz if for no reason than his protection. Raditz did not appreciate her pity; he grimaced and leaned away. "Fine." he groused, "I won't pretend to understand why you like mister short walking sour puss, but I will help you. It's almost the Solstice the Namekians celebrate, right?" He looked at her with the warmest, most gentle look he had ever given her, and despite herself, Bulma found her heart clenching. "It could be our own gift exchange, what do'ya say? Huh? A kiss for a scabbard?"

She blushed, looking down in embarrassment. She wanted to say 'no'; she had made a promise to herself, once she found herself free of the harem, to never even kiss another unless she was kissing her mate. Vegeta was the only man she planned to mate, whether they ever did or not was up to him, and she had been proud to have the freedom of her own body again. However, she knew a kiss was hardly opening her legs, or even cheating. They were friends, right? Did not friends kiss from time to time? It was the principle of the thing, though; she was a freed slave, never again should she have to give of herself for anything unless she wanted to.

She was torn, she had hoped to be asked for something more manageable. But, still, he could have asked for worse. She tried to steel herself up for agreeing with him, feeling his fingers beneath her chin, raising her gaze to surely take his desired gift. She closed her eyes, her hands clenching on the scabbard for strength...

But then, warm fingers brushed at her cheeks, wiping away errant tears she had not realized she shed. Opening her eyes, she found Radtiz smirking at her. "I'm not that bad of a kisser, am I?" She huffed a laugh, the most she could do without vocal chords, glad for his lightening of the mood. "Forget I asked." He said, and her mouth opened in surprise. "Stop gaping, woman, you look like a fish." And he chuffed her chin closed for her. "Let's see," he mused, leaning back and rubbing his own chin in thought, looking at her from head to toe, then back to her head. He smiled a genuine smile; "You know, you're the only Saiyan in our group with better hair than me." Bulma laughed at that, heaving air and shoulders to show her mirth, since sound was not possible. He laughed too, a rich bass that filled the room. He reached forward, running a hand through her hair; "Cut off your hair for me, and it'll be an even trade."

Bulma allowed him to bring her hair to his nose, thinking his request was reasonable. Her hair would grow back, thanks to her Tuffle genes, while the cut hair, thanks to her Saiyan half, would remain in the condition it was prior to being cut for years. It would even retain a faint trace of her scent.

Radtiz interrupted her musings, "You haven't cut your hair since before being enslaved, right?" In surprise, Bulma gaped again but nodded, remembering that her Saiyan mother used to love cutting and primping her hair since she couldn't do that to her own hair; however, since being captured her hair had been left mostly alone. Raditz further surprised her with his next statement, proving he could be a romantic when that time called for it; "Some of our fellow Saiyans still see you as you were. Perhaps this is a chance to change your image? To shed the past and start anew. It would be my honor to help you."

Smiling fondly at him, she nodded. Cutting her hair, metaphorically shedding her past while physically giving it as a payment for Vegeta's gift, him being her future, seemed very appropriate. Not wasting time, she pulled her hair into a low ponytail, tying it off and turning slightly away to give Raditz access. She saw him reach for his sword, and eagerly awaited the cutting.

Carefully maneuvering the blade with one hand, Radtiz gently took her hair in his other, fingers caressing her neck in what seemed a farewell from him. All too quickly, her hair pulled taut, was sliced, and slackened, a weight that fell from her shoulders she never even realized she was carrying. She touched her hair, threading fingers through strands and coming out much faster than usual, feeling a new sensation as the edges of the pixie-cut tickled her ears.

Joyful tears falling, she turned her radiant smile on Raditz, and bowed her thanks. He waved her thanks away, Adam's apple bobbing in sorrow that her smile really wasn't meant for him; "Save your tears for another man, I don't need them. If you're gonna get all emotional, just take the scabbard and go."

Bulma continued to smile and cry, but stood and walked to the door of his room. She turned back before exiting, seeing Radtiz turned away, laying his sword and her hair next to each other in prominence atop his desk. She watched him a moment, seeing him caress the blue strands, before she bowed to his back, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: The gift exchange.


	5. Chapter 5

Vegeta had not come home since going off to talk to Piccolo, three days ago. From time to time Vegeta would be away for long periods, and he had said he wanted to celebrate the Solstice with her, so Bulma did not worry. It was just as well; he would have been suspicious of her newly cut hair otherwise. Bulma sat outside, watching the smallest sun, "Kleine", sink beneath the horizon. Its normally golden hue was subdued purple by the low angle it now met the green sky. It reminded her of the red sunsets of Planet Vegeta, in that she used to love watching sunsets with her parents.

She shed a few tears at the memory, smiling tremulously as she remembered her family fondly. Her mother had died with honor in her Saiyan heart trying to free her daughter, but Bulma had never learned what happened to her father, if anything...

But the Solstice was for happy memories, the Namekians said, so she recalled family dinners, her father's purple mustache, her mother's rare blue eyes, (and Bulma chuckled, thinking about how everyone always assumed her eyes came from her father, ha!).

Sighing, she turned from the past and thought of her present family, eagerly awaiting Vegeta's return. She clutched at the scabbard at her lap, finally feeling a faint trace of his ki. She stood, patting her short hair, caressing wrinkles out of her hand-sewn blue skirt (a gift from Chi-Chi), hugging the scabbard to her chest, not caring that it rumpled her dark navy blouse. He took a while arriving, as if he were hesitant, or enjoying his flight.

When the small sun was halfway set, he finally arrived, appearing like a king from the sky. Her breath hitched, the sunset creating flames within his forever obsidian hair, his form flawless as usual in his pristine armor (that she kept in good order), and his heated gaze was focused solely on her.

Vegeta's mouth fell as he finally landed before Bulma, recognizing that her hair had not been pulled back as he initially thought, but cut! Its fringe reached her neck around her ears, and waved slightly in the cold wind. He stepped closer, reaching a hand to touch her, to run a hand through her locks, frowning at how short the trip was. He tried again, leaving his hand in her blue strands, cupping her head as he questioned her with his eyes.

She gestured with her arms, holding an object out for him to see; in the dying light he saw a scabbard. "You got this for me? How?" He asked, reaching for the scabbard, and she in turn reached for his hip, bare of weapon. She looked at him in confusion; unless in their home, he was never without his sword. He dropped the scabbard, dust lightly disturbed settling upon the once clean gift. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a wrapped parcel and handed it to Bulma. "I traded my sword for your Solstice gift. Here, not that'll it do much good now." He groused, replacing a hand in her short hair. Though he was saddened at the turn of events, he found he still wanted to touch her, to be around her.

She stepped closer, hands barely able to move between their chests, and opened the gift. There was a moment of stillness, the last rays of Kline re-lighting her hair a dark purple, her skin a healthy glow. Her face was one of shock, and he knew all too soon what would follow. The two combs in her hands were beautiful; Piccolo had carved dragons on the handles, and the tines were perfectly even. The alien had even found some shiny stones to go along the edge; nothing precious, but still pretty. It truly was a gift worthy of his sword. Her face broke in tears, her shoulder shook with silent sobs. She fell to her knees, hands falling on the scabbard.

He knelt beside her, laying a consolatory hand on her shoulder. He, too, felt the bitter irony of what occurred; they could hardly catch a break, it seemed, and even when they tried with the best of intentions for something simple and small, they failed. The sun dipped below the horizon, and stars, rarely seen on Namek, started peeking out. Vegeta hardly paid attention, only to the passing of time as his woman cried her tears, all the while running a hand through her shortened locks.

Eventually, her heaving shoulders slowed and calmed. When she looked at him, it was not with sorrow, but with a smile. She gestured to the scabbard, than told Vegeta with hand signs that she had traded for it. "With what?" He whispered, almost dreading her answer. She reached for her hair, smiling and not having to say much more.

"Who?" He growled. She shook her head, not wanting to answer that. Vegeta understood, but growled in his throat; it was dangerous to tell a jealous warrior who his perceived competition was. As it is, he will eventually figure it out. He stood, turning his back on the woman, struggling to calm his ire.

He felt her scrambling to get up, and stood still, allowing her to come before him and halt him with her hands, which held the combs, he saw. She then kissed them, bringing arms around his neck and kissing him. Holding her waist he sighed against her lips. "I can not be your first choice for a mate," he saw her frown, but continued on, "but I will have no other woman. You are strong here," he poked her forehead, "and here." He laid a palm over her heart, feeling it's pulse quickening. "All that you do for our people astounds me and thrills me. I wanted to show you my appreciation. My... my love." He took the combs from her, "Worthless..."

She took them back before he could throw them, or break them, or something equally stupid. Placing them on the chair she previously occupied that evening, she picked up the discarded scabbard and leaned it against the chair as well. Taking a deep breath, she knelt before her prince. His brow furrowed in confusion, she never knelt before him like this. She gave him his due respect as prince of their people, but it never involved subservient gestures like this, of which he full well approved of knowing her past and wanting her future to be better. He was about to tell her to get up, but she spoke first.

Her hands shook as they spelled out what he had been too oblivious to see, clearly she was shaken up over how their evening had gone so far. She told him that there had never been another, that she had done everything for him, and no one else. That his requests for her supplying the rest of the troops were only fulfilled because she wanted to show her commitment to _him_.

By this time her hands had become steadier. She had only wanted his protection in the very beginning, but the life he gave her, new and fulfilling and meaningful, had made a spark grow within her. She had not known he felt the very same till tonight. She hesitated to spell out the very last, but eventually she signed again: she loved him.

When he said nothing, surprise stupefying him, she bowed her head and lowered it to the ground. He looked away from her embarrassing move, sighing at the starry night. He looked at the darkened horizon, finding it distant, cold, and lonely. No wonder the Namkians celebrated a holiday at this time; what better reason to be closer to family and friends so as to ward off the dark?

He looked the other way, towards their home and at the gifts on the chair. Perhaps they had not failed, perhaps the gifts were not so worthless; each spoke volumes to the commitment each made to the other. To give up of their pasts, of their most prized possessions, so that their other half could be honored... they were manifestations of their hearts laid bare, rare and true treasures made invaluable with the best of intentions.

"You hair," he spoke in her general direction, "it will grow back?" He was not sure with her genes what way her hair went, and had never paid much attention before. He felt a little embarrassed to have never looked to see if her long hair ever grew longer...

"Yes." She spoke to the ground.

Relieved, he chuckled, a little of his humor returning. "I will have to get a new sword, eventually." He said, gratified to finally see her looking up again. "I can not very well reclaim the throne without one, can I?"

She smiled. He gestured for her to get up, enveloping her in his arms once she was off her knees. Solemnity gracing his features he caressed her cheek; "Though I might be king on a throne, or forever a disgraced exile, everything I am or will ever be, is yours, Bulma."

She started to cry again, but Vegeta didn't mind so much this time, recognizing them for happy tears. She moved her lips, and he read that though she might forever be a fallen woman, or a scientist to fulfill a cause, everything that was hers, was his. Chests swelling with blissful pain, they kissed each other, Solstice stars twinkling above them, and all else forgotten and unimportant.


	6. Epilogue

A FEW YEARS LATER

King Vegeta and Queen Bulma stood together in their rooms of the palace; the half that was still standing after the war to depose Frieza anyway. Dawn is just about to start on Planet Vegeta. They are finished getting ready, about to stroll arm in arm to a high balcony to greet their triumphant subjects, Saiyan and Tuffle alike. Visitors from planets Namek and Tech-Tech would be there as well; Ambassador Piccolo, Prince Tarble and his wife, Princess Gure, are high on the list of honored guests. Guests who helped make this all possible: Namek provided an army, Tech-Tech provided the ships, and Bulma's father, Professor Trunks, provided the ingenuity of finding everybody and bringing it all together like an intricate Tuffle puzzle.

The King wore his finest fabrics of royal black, symbolic of the Saiyan's dark nature as opposed to their colorful Tuffle neighbors (he supposes that tradition will die and change during his reign); with his shiniest formal armor (that was never worn during actual battle) that symbolized the warrior within and without, and a blood-red cape, a symbol of the planet itself, red and bloody even as seen from many galaxies away through a telescope. White gloves and boots, showing his pure intentions as a leader, completed the outfit.

The Queen wore something of a Tuffle arrangement, for no Saiyan woman would wear such. It was intricate and required help putting on for the wearer; symbolic of Tuffle ingenuity, and togetherness. Three layers symbolizing the three stages of femininity, made shift, kimono, and outer robe, all with openings in the back rather than the front. They were in varying shades of blues to compliment the Queen's coloring and to balance the dour colors of the King. Gold and silver ties wrap around each layer in many loops, normally constricting the air flows just enough to remind the wearer to sit or stand straighter; reminiscent of Tuffle suffering and vigilance, the colors symbolizing their technological genius, looking like wires rather than ornamental belts or sashes. They were loose, this time, making concession for the lady's condition. Soft, barely functional slippers grace her feet, not truly visible to the casual viewer, reminding the Tuffle woman to tread lightly, or else loose her footing.

In this pre-dawn quiet, wishing to encapsulate this moment for just the two of them since they rarely have alone time anymore, Vegeta caresses his Queen's cheek, his other hand resting on her extended belly, feeling the future kick his palm. The hand at her cheek rises to her intricate up-do, finding her incongruous wood combs in her regrown hair and tugging them like an adolescent brat teasing his first crush. They do not budge, nor do they clash with her clothing, but at face value they are most definitely not up to the rest of her clothing's richness. Sentimentally, however, all the rest is trash compared to the dragons resting in her regrown hair.

She swats at his hands, but he only brings her in for a loose hug, kissing her forehead with his lips raised in a smirk. He feels her hands lay on his waist, and he knows it her turn to explore his Solstice gift, the plain scabbard that did his outfit ill-justice, hung at his hip holding a new sword. The sword that the Tech-Techs forged for him before the final assault; the sword that had killed many of Frieza's top generals, and had helped Kakaraot bring down Frieza himself. It is a well-balanced sword, with hardened bronze hilt and guard, a ruby on the pommel. He would dislike the thing that reminded him of his lax father's gaudy tastes, except the flat of the blade, as designed by his little brother, had dragons carefully etched on the steel; that he can abide and appreciate. It is an obviously grand sword that deserves a grand scabbard to hold it; However, King and Queen thought none better than the plain, well-worn, well taken care of leather scabbard that still hung at his side to this day, ever since receiving it as a gift.

Kissing his chest plate above his heart, she adjusted the old faithful sword belt so that his sword was an inch or two moved to the proper place. Hearing him chuckle over her fidgeting, she offered her own sheepish smile in reply. His kissed her, lingering at her lips; "None of this is worth anything without you by my side." His blushing wife nodded in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Notes: I was not originally going to give the story an epilogue that gave the characters a happy ending with everything they could want, but long explanation aside, here it is! Thanks for taking the time to read the story, I hope it was enjoyed.


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